


if the sun's upset and the sky goes cold

by CamsthiSky



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Batfamily Dynamics (DCU), Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Depersonalization, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson-centric, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Illnesses, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bruce Wayne, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27838714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamsthiSky/pseuds/CamsthiSky
Summary: Dick is finally forced to deal with the exploding pressure from being a vigilante for almost his entire life.aka Dick and Bruce agree therapy might be necessary
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Everyone
Comments: 28
Kudos: 353





	if the sun's upset and the sky goes cold

**Author's Note:**

> let me know if i missed any tags!
> 
> i have three chapters planned out for this fic but we’ll see if it ever happens. i am terrible at updating, so i apologize in advance for however long it takes to get this finished
> 
> anyways, thanks for reading <3
> 
> title is from someone to you by banners

“You’re a goddamn spork, you know that?!” a voice distantly yells out into the frigid night air, and if Dick hadn’t been so attuned to the voices of his family, he honestly might have missed it.

As it is, Dick _doesn’t_ miss it, and both he and the voice know it, so Dick sighs and propels himself upright. The approaching figure is closer now. Dick doesn’t know how to feel about that, so he asks, “Why am I always a spork?”

Jason seethes as he stomps closer. Close enough that Dick can see the rage glinting in his eyes. Oh. Jason is _big_ mad. Oops. “That’s literally the _last_ thing you should be focused on right now.”

“No,” Dick sighs, “I can think of at least twenty-three other things that I should be focusing on less.”

“Cut the crap,” Jason demands, which is rare. As of late, Jason’s been the harbinger of chaos more than he hasn’t. “And get the _hell_ out of there. Are you _trying_ to freeze to death?”

“Maybe,” Dick says, even though he knows it’s not true.

He doesn’t want to freeze to death. He’s not exactly sure _why_ he’s decided that jumping in the manor’s backyard pool at two in the morning in the middle of November was necessary, but he finds he likes the weightlessness of floating in water. It’s almost something of a break from the weight of the world that seems to have settled itself on his shoulders.

“God _dammit_ , Dick,” Jason snarls. “We’ve been looking for you for almost an hour now.”

Dick hums, thinking that over. He’s not as concerned as he thinks he should be, and a slight concern pops into his head that _maybe_ he might just be experiencing depersonalization.

Jason is still talking. “You can’t just _disappear_ like that. You gave Tim and Alfred a heart attack. A collective one. Like some goddamn contagion. You’re supposed to be in your fucking bedroom _recoverin_ , not out here, stargazing in the pool when it’s below freezing. Shit, I can’t _believe_ I’m the one—”

“It’s not,” Dick interrupts, brain latching onto one thing.

Jason’s mouth audibly snaps shut, and when he opens it again, it’s in a sneer. “Fucking _excuse_ me?!”

“Below freezing,” Dick clarifies, like that’s the thing that matters right now. He’s still star-fished in the water, and he’s not looking at Jason anymore. He’s too preoccupied with staring up at the night sky he can’t see behind the Gotham smog. “It’s not. I’d be dead by now if it was.”

His words leave a silence in their wake. A silence that, had Dick been even slightly less tired and numb, would have had Dick rambling to diffuse the tension. It’d be his responsibility to put on his big brother smile and talk Jason away from the concerned anger that reminds Dick so much of Bruce as much as it doesn’t. But that part that does, it makes him _ache_.

But Dick _is_ tired, and the cold water enveloping him has been slowly draining his emotions from his body since he first slid in an hour ago, and he doesn’t have anything left in him to make himself care about a stupid _silence_.

His brain is finally quiet, and there’s almost something like satisfaction tingling in his fingertips, because finally— _finally—_ both the inside and outside of him are quiet.

He closes his eyes.

He drifts.

A splash. 

“C’mon, Dickiebird,” a voice says, so close to his ear. Dick doesn’t startle. He doesn’t react.

Arms encircle his middle and he lets it happen. He’s pulled through the water. They make it to the wall, the edge of the pool, and it’s only once he’s been dragged out of the water that something in Dick’s very being revolts. The exact moment his feet hit the deck, Dick’s eyes snap open.

“ _No!_ ” Dick cries out, elbow driving backwards and digging into his captor’s torso.

He’s too weak from the cold to put up much of a fight.

The arms tighten, and still, Dick keeps struggling. He registers the _whoosh_ of breath that leaves Jason’s lungs at a second strike, but Dick’s in the wrong state of mind for this fight. Jason has everything on him right now, and by the time Dick goes limp, he’s sobbing.

“Hey, hey,” Jason says, sounding almost afraid. “Jeezy Creezy, Dick, you always have to do things the dramatic way, huh? Just—shit, Dick. You’re gonna pass out if you don’t breathe. Dick. _Dick._ ”

Dick splutters on an inhale, and his exhale is almost nonexistent.

For some reason, out of absolutely nowhere, all Dick wants is his dad. Shivering and soaking wet, limp in Jason’s arms, all Dick can think about is Bruce. The numbness is fading and the buzzing in his head creeps back now that it’s uninhibited by the cold water. 

He wants his dad.

“What the _hell?”_ a new voice calls out. “What _happened?_ Why was he in the pool?!”

Behind him, Jason spews venom. “The idiot decided to take a swim and I had to fish him out. Because _of course_ he did. Seriously, what the _fuck_ is wrong with you?!”

“Are you seriously _yelling_ at him right now?” the other voice snaps, voice tinged in appalled disbelief. “You can _not_ be seriously yelling at him. Right now. Of all times.”

“Are you seriously going to stand there for two years, or were you planning on helping?” Jason snarls right back. “Get me those freaking towels and call Bruce.”

Dick chokes on nothing but air, Bruce’s name filling his chest with weight so heavy that he feels it throughout his whole body. His lungs heave for oxygen, his head limply falls back onto Jason’s shoulder, and he has no more energy to do anything but struggle to breathe through heaving sobs.

A towel wraps around him, and the voices around him distort themselves into murmurs with no meaning. Time passes him by, and the only thing Dick manages to do is stay conscious. And even then, it’s just barely.

“Breathe, chum.”

Bruce.

“ _Dad,”_ Dick whispers, lips trembling and lungs heaving. He manages a breath, two, and then a third as Bruce’s hands shift his weight away from Jason. After that, the world falls away for a moment. And Dick lets it.

The next thing he knows, he’s staring at a crackling fire from the floor of the manor’s den. Bruce’s arms have tucked Dick into his broad chest, with Dick’s ear right next to his heart, a comforting _tha-thump tha-thump_ sound that ties him to the present. 

On top of that, Dick is _warm_. It’s such a contrast to the last thing he remembers that if Dick hadn’t been so exhausted and drained, he’d probably make a show of snuggling into the blanket wrapped around his shoulders and sighing from contentedness.

Right now, though, it’s all he can do to keep his eyes open. Beyond blinking heavily, he doesn’t move.

“Found him!” someone yells from beyond the room. 

Stephanie, Dick thinks. There are footsteps, and then she’s in the room. Dick can’t see her from his position basically curled up in Bruce’s lap, but he can hear her catching her breath.

“Hey, Bruce,” Steph says once she’s found her voice. “Me and Timmy found him. He was sulking in the barn with Batcow.”

Oh. They’re talking about Damian.

Bruce hums lightly, and his chest vibrates with the sound under Dick’s ear. “‘Tim and I.’”

“Grammar is a made up concept to dump on the poor,” Steph tells him. “So, _me and Tim_ found your youngest brat. You’re welcome.”

“Thank you,” Bruce says, and Dick can hear the amusement in his voice where he thinks no one else would. “I’m sure the five minute long journey to find Damian where I told you he’d be was arduous.”

Dick can imagine Steph scowling at Bruce. She sounds affronted when she says, “I can’t believe this. How come you are _only_ like this when Tim isn’t around? He never freaking believes me when I tell him you’re a sarcastic shit.”

To that, all Bruce says is, “Language.”

“I’m like seventy-seven percent sure you are playing mind games with me,” Steph whines.

“Only seventy-seven?”

Steph yells dramatically. “God, where’s Tim when you need him? How much do I have to pay you to act like this in front of a camera?”

Bruce sighs. “Stephanie.”

“No. Go back to being sarcastic. That was better than saying my name all disappointed-like.”

“Go help Tim get Damian back in the house.”

“It’s alright,” Steph says. “You can say mansion. I won’t be offended. Much.”

“ _Stephanie.”_

There’s a short moment of silence, and then Steph says, “I was worried. Tim told me how you guys found him.”

“He’s fine.”

“He wasn’t.”

Dick closes his eyes. There’s a lump forming in his throat, and if Dick weren’t so freaking tired already, he’d probably be crying again. Or close to it.

“No,” Bruce says after a beat. “He wasn’t.”

“What happened?” Steph asks when Bruce doesn’t say anything else. “I thought he was supposed to be recovering.”

Bruce sighs. Dick head rises and falls with the motion. “Stephanie, please. Go find Tim and Damian.”

“Jason said it was a mental breakdown.”

_“Now.”_

“I just—”

“Stephanie _.”_

“Geez!” Steph snaps. “Fine! Sorry for being a human being that cares about people!”

“ _Go_.”

“I’m going!” Steph calls out, her voice fading as she yells out increasingly meaner insults about Bruce’s ability to function like an adult with real emotions. 

Dick understands the sentiment, because Bruce can be _frustrating_. He’s stubborn and hides his emotions deep inside himself until they choke him and erupt out in misplaced anger. He’s been better lately, but trauma does weird things to people, and Dick has learned to read Bruce better than he can read himself.

“If I ask what happened tonight, are you going to be honest with me?” Bruce asks into the silence, and for a moment, Dick thinks that Bruce is talking to someone else, someone else he hadn’t realized was in the room with them. It’s only after a few seconds of quiet that one of Bruce’s hands moves to cup Dick’s head, cradling Dick’s head to his chest, and Dick realizes that Bruce had been speaking to _Dick._

Well. No matter how well Dick can read Bruce, Bruce will always have a leg up on him.

Dick pries his eyes back open, blinking blearily at the fire in front of him. He _barely_ feels awake. Still, Bruce knows he’s coherent.

“Tired,” is what Dick manages to mumble.

Okay, make that semi-coherent.

“Hn.”

“‘S loud,” Dick tells Bruce.

“Not the house,” Bruce says. It’s not a question.

“My head.” The flames are dying down, and Dick idly wonders how long it’s been since he’d been cocooned in a blanket and warmed up, because he doesn’t even feel _damp_.

Somehow, even without saying anything, Bruce radiates disapproval. “Dick.”

“Bruce,” Dick tries to mock, just like he used to, but he doesn’t have the energy. Instead, he sighs, turning his face into Bruce’s chest. “...Sorry I scared you.”

“What happened.” Bruce doesn’t agree to Dick’s statement, but there’s an obvious frown in Bruce’s voice.

“Dunno,” Dick says, voice slightly muffled by Bruce’s shirt. “Was tryna sleep. Got overwhelmed, maybe? Ended up outside and didn’t really think about it. I just….”

“Jumped into the pool.”

“Yeah.”

“This can’t happen again,” Bruce tells him.

“Can you be a normal person for once in your life?” Dick wonders, voice flat with annoyance. “I _just_ told you I don’t know how it happened. It’s not like I thought, _hey, let’s give B the scare of his fucking life and maybe almost die of hypothermia while we’re at it_. I’m not that cruel, Bruce.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Dick pushes away from Bruce’s chest, somehow finding the energy to meet Bruce’s eyes. He looks almost as exhausted as Dick feels. “You’re asking me to stop doing something I wasn’t in total control of.”

“Stop putting words in my mouth,” Bruce tells him.

“Then fucking say what you mean.”

Bruce’s lips thin. “...I was scared. You scared me, Dick.”

Dick deflates, and he rests his forehead back on Bruce’s sternum. Bruce’s hand comes back up to gently cradle Dick’s head again. Dick says, “Sorry. Sorry, I don’t know why I’m—I’m not angry with you. Not really.”

He’s being unfair, Dick realizes. Yeah, Bruce has issues saying what he really means, but Dick doesn’t need to snap at him for it. Something inside of him has been unsettled by his two a.m. dive, and his emotions feel like they’re all over the place. And he’s not even sure which one he’s actually _feeling_ right now.

Maybe all of them. Maybe none of them. Dick’s head has never felt so scrambled.

“It’s okay if you are,” Bruce tells him, his voice quiet and intent, like he’s been thinking about this for a while. “Angry with me, I mean. I haven’t been there for you in the way you’ve needed in a very long time.”

“I’m not mad at you, B,” Dick whispers. “I promise, I’m not. I just—I don’t know what’s going on with me. It’s like I can barely think anymore. I don’t know where my head is at.”

“Your head’s on your shoulders, Dickie,” Bruce says softly, gentler than Dick’s heard him since before Jason. “You have a lot stuffed in there, but your head is still right where it’s supposed to be.”

Dick swallows, terror and tears rising in equal amounts. “Sometimes I don’t feel real, Bruce. It’s terrifying.”

“You’re dissociating.”

“Maybe.” The word seems too small for the magnitude of noise drowning Dick’s brain.

Dick brings a hand up to Bruce’s shirt, gripping the soft fabric with trembling fingers. He thinks he’s on the verge of panicking, and the words are already leaving his lips before he can think to take them back. “I—think I need help. It—I don’t—I want to stay Nightwing. But. The other day.”

“Tell me,” Bruce says.

Dick tightens his grip. “It’s been _years_ , B. I don’t know why this is coming up now, but...sometimes I’m a hundred miles and fifteen years away. I blink, and Harvey Dent’s bat is swinging down at my face. I smell smoke, and Haly’s is burning down around me. I’ll see a glow stick, and Chemo’s dropping on Bludhaven.”

“Flashbacks.”

“Yeah.”

“How bad.”

 _“Bad_ ,” Dick says, his voice thick. “It’s getting worse, Bruce. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Okay,” Bruce says, and if Dick didn’t know any better, he’d say it’d sound placating. “Look at me, Dick.”

Dick shakes his head. He’s crying for sure now, but he doesn’t have enough energy to do more than shed tears and try to swallow past the lump in his throat. All Dick wants right now is to close his eyes and find a way to make his brain fall _quiet_ for once.

“Chum,” Bruce says again, tone gentling even further. “Look at me.”

Dick tenses, but after a moment, he gives into Bruce’s hands levering him upright. Their gazes meet, and Dick hates that Bruce’s expression is one of pure _heartbreak_ , and it _sucks_ because _Dick_ is the one that put that expression on Bruce’s face.

“I love you,” Bruce tells him. Dick nods. This is something he knows. Bruce keeps going. “I love you, Dickie. You’re my son. And this...is not something I know how to help you with. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try.”

Dick chuckles wetly. “I can’t believe you grew emotions in the matter of two minutes.”

Bruce smiles faintly, but the heartbreak doesn’t go away. “I’m not good at this.”

“You’re doin’ alright,” Dick sniffs, finding himself honestly meaning it. “Sounds like you talked to Clark recently, though.”

Bruce grunts, and Dick can’t help the upturn of his own lips.

“So, I assume that’s a yes,” Dick teases wetly. “At this point you should start paying him for being your best-friend-slash-therapist.”

Bruce’s expression twists, and the tentative smile slides right off Dick’s face. He’s not sure he’s going to like whatever idea Bruce has just thought up.

“Would—” Bruce stops, brow pinched, like he doesn’t like this idea, either. Still, he keeps going. “If I started going to therapy, would you go, too?”

Dick sucks in a breath, searching Bruce’s face. “Are you serious?”

Bruce breathes in deeply, measured. He looks like he swallowed something sour but Dick sees no hint of a lie. At any other time, Dick would have made a joke. Instead, he just holds his breath and waits.

“Yes,” Bruce finally says. “I’m serious. I think therapy would be a good idea for you. I’m not...equipped to help you the way you need me to. Therapy...would help.”

“You hated therapy.”

“Mm.” Bruce still doesn’t look happy. “I’ll have Clark pick someone for me.”

Dick is speechless. 

Bruce is offering to start therapy for him, even though he’d been riddled with however many child therapists and psychologists that he’d abhorred, to the point where he’d sworn off therapy completely once he’d been an adult.

Dick’s never really thought about it for himself, if he’s being honest. He’s not the best when it comes to dealing with things. He knows he’s a lot like Bruce when it comes to his emotions. As a kid, he’d let his temper loose on Bruce or random Gotham thugs, but nowadays, he tends to push his anger downdown _down_ , masking it with a smile and a joke.

He knows it’s just as destructive as Bruce’s method in it’s own way, but when it came to his breaking point, Dick’s always somehow managed to find a release, or someone to lean on for a second.

He’s had _people_. Wally, Roy, Donna, Garth. Clark. Alfred. Babs. His siblings. _Bruce._ They’ve always seemed to help him find a way to keep going one way or another, even if they hadn’t necessarily known it.

But that doesn’t mean he didn’t still have awfully unhealthy coping methods. Maybe, just maybe, therapy is something that will help him. And if Bruce will go, too, then—

But—

“You don’t have to make it an ultimatum,” Dick whispers. “It shouldn’t matter if you do go, and either way, I think you’re right that I need help. So. I’ll go.”

Bruce doesn’t look relieved. He just looks frustrated. “Dick. I don’t know how to help you. And—I’d like to. Learn.”

“Oh,” Dick breathes. His stomach swoops for a reason he can’t identify. “Would you still go even if I didn’t want to?”

Bruce grimaces. “Yes.”

A thought occurs to Dick, then.

“Can we,” Dick swallows dryly, and that’s when he realizes his hands are shaking. His voice is unsteady, too. “Do you think we could do a few sessions together first? It doesn’t have to be about you. I just—I’d rather have you there.”

Bruce cradles Dick’s face in his hands, his thumbs brushing across Dick’s eyebrows the same way he used to when Dick was nine and plagued by nightmares. He looks less constipated when he says, “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“You’ll tell me if it’s not working for you, right?” Dick asks in a whisper. He can’t stand the thought of Bruce being afraid of anything, especially when it comes to something so delicate as therapy and mental health.

“As long as you do the same.”

Dick nods jerkily. His lip wobbles dangerously, but he doesn’t have the energy to cry. “Can I go to bed.”

Bruce hums, thumbs stroking over Dick’s face again. Dick’s eyelids flutter shut of their own accord. “You’re not sleeping alone.”

Dick accepts that demand for the concern it is. “Okay.”

Bruce says nothing. They sit there for a moment longer, and Bruce’s thumbs keep up their ministrations. It’s enough to lull Dick into a half-asleep sort of state. When Bruce finally pulls away, Dick lets himself be lifted into a standing position and led through the halls of the manor to Bruce’s room.

It’s as Bruce is tucking the blankets up around Dick’s shoulders that Dick finally says, “I love you, too, by the way.”

Bruce’s answer is nothing but a kiss to the crown of Dick’s head, and yet, Dick falls asleep thinking that it’s _everything_.


End file.
